So Blind
by For the Kingdom
Summary: They were meant for each other. And I don't mean Christine and the Phantom. When one obsesses over one rose in bloom, one misses the others that surround him and one forgets all about what was destined to happen. Movie based
1. Forgetting the Past

A/N: Hey y'all. You probably don't recognize me since I hang out in Spiderman most of the time. But yeah. This is my first POTO fic and I hope it'll turn out as good as it is in my head. Enjoy!

_**Chapter one - Forgetting the Past**_

Madam Giry walked alone down the cobblestone road. Late night fog had set in and consumed the hem of her dress as she went along. She couldn't bare to see the little boy she had helped way back when be slaughtered by the hunters that went down after him with guns and knives. She knew she had to do something to save Christine, but Giry couldn't help but feel guilty for giving the man his death sentence. She had seen him back at that gypsy circus being tortured before audiences. And all because one side of his face was deformed. She had never learned his name, he never learned her name, and she had never heard a word from him, but the frightened breath and bloody gashes on his back won her pity. She had wanted to protect him from all the cruelty and save him all the pain that he would endure.

Madam Giry made it to a city bench and sat down. She had lead the very ones he was afraid of right to him. How could she be so heartless? How could she betray him like that? She covered her eyes with one hand as a tear fell. Shehad been the source of his murder, she was acting as one of them; and, in all reality, she was no better than that gypsy who had beaten him years ago.

A couple men burst out of the opera house light streaming into the dark street. They argued a bit but then made their way down the side of the road hastily. She could recognize them now, Andre and Firmin. She stood to meet them.

"Where's the body?" She asked standing in front of them.

"There is no body." Firmin replied with a angered sniff. "The old devil got away."

"But don't worry Madam Giry, we'll get him eventually. He can't hide forever," Andre chimed in with a smile as the two trudged on past her. Madam Giry wiped a tear away and hurried into the opera house.

They hadn't found him? He was still alive? She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or worried. If they found him again, this whole cycle would start over. She wasn't sure if he could take it. But even so, there wasn't much she could do about it. He was, after all, forty something - not that poor, defenseless child she had met before. The best thing she could do for him now was to pretend like nothing happened.

OOOOO

Down under the opera house, the phantom's lair was now ransacked. Tables had toppled over, his numerous candles that had brought him light were broken and ground into the floor. A shape emerged from the shadows of the room. It crept across the scenery, barely having enough light to see.

Maskless and now drenched with water from his hiding place, the phantom perused what was left of his home. Everything he worked at collecting to make this dungeon remotely welcoming was now trashed. He bent over and lifted up a music box with a Persian monkey atop it struggling a few last notes. A cymbal was missing and the other was cracked and the box was more apart than together. One of the arms had been torn off but its giddy, ironic smile still shone out of the nearly severed head.

He had lost everything. Not only his home, but Christine whom he had obsessed over since she had moved into the labyrinth. Even his mask was missing. It was possible that one of them had tucked it under their coat for a suvinior. All had gone back to the way he had come.

The phantom set his favorite chair back on its feet and sank into it. What could he do now? What had he done before he met Christine? Worked on operas, inventions, his home, other things he guessed. But since the fiery love between him and Christine, nothing seemed to measure up to it. He had believed that she might have fallen for him and that he wasn't just carrying on a one sided love; it didn't help that she went perfectly along with it. Though in the end he truly saw that it was, undoubtedly, a one sided love. Unfortunately, Christine would forget about it, get married to Mr. Prince Charming, become Mrs. Prince Charming, and have perfect little children who would accompany them to the opera to see their mother sing. Their life would end happily. His, though, would end in an entirely different manner.

OOOOO

Madam Giry flowed into her room and shut the door. It must have been at least two in the morning already and she was tired. She walked over to her small dresser equipped with mirror and let her hair down. She then began unbuttoning her blouse mechanically staring into the mirror. Her dress was only a little torn at the edges and burnt from the chandelier crash which wasn't bad considering the damage it could have done to her person. She hadn't been told if Christine had made it out fine. Poor child, hopefully she would be alright.

Something sent shivers up Madam Giry's neck. Someone–something was watching her undress. It was a fearful sensation and she could even see a vague reflection of something in the corner of her room in her mirror. She spun around to look but the corner in which something watched was bare. The same wood and concrete she had always knew. A knock came on the door which almost spooked her again. She pulled on her robe, overlapped it - but didn't tie it - in the front and cracked the door just enough to see whom had come.

To her relief it was only Meg standing there and she let out her unknowingly held breath as she opened the door fully. "Meg. What brings you here?" Madam Giry asked.

"Mother, I–I heard something along the wall but couldn't see what. The noise was only for a little while, but it scared me so," Meg explained speeding up her breathing. "You–you think it's him? You think he's back?" She put her hand to her mouth.

Madam Giry shook her head silently. "No my dear. The noise which frightened you was merely a mouse. Do not worry," she assured her. Meg didn't seem convinced. "The phantom isn't here. We're safe." She smiled at her daughter compassionately. Meg sighed and closed her eyes.

"I'm just a little worried that he'll come back. With the way he took Christine away, I–I–" She couldn't continue and Madam Giry took this opportunity to put her arm around Meg.

"Hush, hush. He is gone for good. No need for fear." Madam Giry reassured her. Meg smiled.

"Alright."

"Now get to bed. It's late." She shooed her off and Meg walked back down the hallway contently. She gave a smile of thanks back to her mother as she went into her room. Madam Giry smiled back and went inside. She closed the door and got fully dressed into her night apparel. She pulled back the covers and climbed inside.

Meg heard something too? Was this just coincidence or was there truly something lurking? There couldn't be, she wouldn't lead herself to believe such lies. With that, Madam Giry closed her eyes refusing to think more on the matter. Even so, they didn't stay closed for long and she ended up staring at the ceiling in thought most of the night.

OOOOO

Raoul lifted his future wife out of the carriage and to his side. Christine put her arm around his waist and leaned her head on his chest unable to say anything. Raoul acknowledged this by bidding the coachman to drive on and leading her inside without removing her from him. Christine stumbled by his side not wanting to let go of him. Raoul closed the large, wooden door blocking out the cold foggy night. He set her down on a sofa to the side. Then he himself sat beside her.

"Raoul, I'm frightened. I don't know why. I just can't forget that face. And whenever I close my eyes, those piercing eyes are staring back at me. I–I can't let it go! Raoul, I–I don't know what to do," tears filled Christine's eyes as she struggled to speak again. "I don't know Raoul–" Raoul held her tight against and she hugged him closer.

"It's alright Christine, it's all over with. They hunted him down. He's not coming back...he's not coming back..." he coaxed her running his fingers through those brunet locks near her face. She continued to cry on him for a little while longer. Sometimes a person must just cry to flush out their system. Overdramatize it until it's washed dry. This is what Christine planned to do. Raoul recognized this and let her sob - besides, it was nice having her with him alone and sincere.

"Well," Raoul spoke up rubbing her shoulder. "It's all over now." Christine forced a smile. "Now is a happy time. We're going to be wed soon. Forget all of this. Forget all you've seen." he smiled at her and her smile became more heartfelt.

"Only another week," Christine whispered in his ear. "And then I will be your wife."

"Would you like to finish up the invitations that were hindered by the 'happenings'?" Raoul asked. Christine smiled and nodded her head.

They spent the next half hour writing invitations to the last few people who they desired to be at their wedding. They happily conversed on most any subject. The letters piled up, the candles they used near the floor melted down and dimmed. They finally fell asleep in the living room - Christine laying inside the curve of Raoul's body - on the couch. Everything from that night and before seemed to self-erase. No one thought of anything that had happened. Everyone seemed to forget completely about the phantom of the opera.

to be continued...

A/N: I don't know how many of you know this, but the line 'Forget all of this. Forget all you've seen.' is a direct quote from the ending scene in Phantom of the Opera when the phantom is giving up Christine to Raoul. I was kinda going for an ironic twist or something of the sort. Like Raoul was trying to do it better than the phantom or something. Just thought I'd mention that.


	2. The Past is Deadwell not Quite

A/N: Thanx to you three who are reading! And Moonjava, I already know you! Cool! I'm not a lone ranger. Anyhoo, here's the next one.

1**_Chapter two - The Past is Dead...well, not Quite_**

Four months later...

Madam Giry had finished getting dressed. When she opened the door she found Meg hopping towards her. In her hand she held a small piece of paper flapping wildly as she ran. "Mother! Mother!" She called with an enormous grin pasted on her face. Meg nearly overran her in an attempt to stop on her stockings. "Christine is coming! She's coming back from her honeymoon to see us! She's coming back to the opera!" All was said in one breath.

"She is?" Madam Giry asked getting excited also.

"Yes, she sent me this note. See?" Meg handed her mother the letter. Madam Giry opened it up and began reading it while Meg awaited an answer.

"'My dear friend Meg,

'From that happening several months ago, I and Raoul were wedded as you know. We went out on our honeymoon. It was wonderful. I'll tell you about it later. But on that same note even after our small vacation from the world, Raoul insisted that I take some time off from the opera. He's such a worry. I finally convinced him that I was ready to go back. And since our honeymoon, something wonderful happened that I wanted to wait 'til I could tell you and others in person about it. That is why Raoul and I are coming the seventh which is tomorrow judging that it'll take a day for this letter to arrive. It is indeed a wonderful surprise. It shall change our lives forever.

'Yours truly,

Christine '

"That is wonderful news."

"Yes it is! Oh I am so excited, I don't know if I'll be able to focus on my singing this morning. What do you think the surprise is?" Meg exclaimed.

"I haven't the slightest idea," Madam Giry said with a smile. "Well, let's get to breakfast, shall we?"

"Yes, let's," Meg replied as she took Madam Giry's arm and looped it through her own in the way one might when taking someone to a dance. They walked through the narrow hallway together and passed Carlotta's room, door ajar, catching the diva's attention. She rushed to the door.

"What are you two doing?" She asked in her Spanish accent.

"We're off to breakfast," Meg replied with a cheery smile. "Aren't you coming?"

Carlotta shrugged and blinked. "I'll be along." She noticed the paper in Meg's grasp. "What is that?"

"Oh this? It's a letter from Christine. She says she's coming back to the opera tomorrow. Isn't that exciting?" Meg encouraged inhaling and awaiting the burst of positive energy about to erupt from Carlotta.

Carlotta didn't exactly respond in the way Meg would have hoped. There was a burst of energy alright, but not the kind she was expecting. Carlotta began screaming words in a panic and sentences much like, 'the toad's coming back?' or 'Just when life was getting good!' and so on and so forth. Madam Giry pushed her daughter on ahead of her and hurried on before the scene got violent as it looked like it would.

They got to the dining room that was better than one might expect in an opera house, but not quite as classy as one in a castle or such. It consisted of a long wooden table in which the entire opera cast and crew sat at while eating. There was also a small table off to the side if two wished to converse away from all the others. Most of the residence had already seated themselves in their usual spots. One or two people acknowledged the Girys' entrance but not many. Meg lightly seated herself in her usual spot to talk to Piangi and Madam Giry took her seat by her side as breakfast began.

OOOOO

Some of the newer recruits were practicing their parts on the stage before tutors. The entire theater was dark but the stage lights just like a real night at the opera. Up on the catwalks above the stage the phantom lurked around. He had gotten back into inventing, writing, and keeping the opera house intact behind Andre and Firmin's backs. The other night he noticed that the performance was almost ruined by a faulty knot in the ropes above. Though he sat in his usual seat - Box 5 - he could tell by the ruffles in the curtains, the faint huffs, the nasty looks Carlotta was giving to the ceiling that something was going on with the way the ropes were set up.

The phantom checked rope after rope but none proved to have any flaws. Then he spotted one right in the center of all of them hanging down. It was strung through some other looped ones. _"That would throw it off,"_ the phantom told himself while reaching for it. Involuntarily, he leaned across the railing. The knife that had been resting there was pushed off. _"No! That'll give me away!"_ He snatched the knife out of the air. Blood streamed from the cut and dribbled down his fingers. He stifled an angry groan through his teeth as the drops dripped off of their tips.

Down below, Alissa practiced her lines one of which was a very high and loud note that was to be preformed in the center of the stage with her arms spread out. The blood splashed in her palm and she looked at it in confusion.

"Sorry!" The phantom called down as if he were just a stage hand. Alissa looked up. "Paint."

She looked back down at her hand and brought it to her nose to sniff it. It wasn't paint...it had a certain tingle to the scent. Something clicked inside Alissa's mind. She had never seen that stagehand with such an odd face-half flesh, half a reddish colorwith mutated skin covering it. She looked back up but the hired help was gone.

OOOOO

The conversation had crossed over from harmless jokes to deep subjects put so lightly one might have thought they were still talking on the weather and such. They especially were inclined to teasing the features of the phantom. And if the banter was classified into a kingdom, Joseph Bouque was the king. He cracked the most jokes, scared the most easily flustered women, acted out the most scenes. Of course no one was bothered by it, why should they be? The phantom of the opera was gone. But then why was Madam Giry suddenly feeling guilty about conversing on the matter?

She found herself slouched in the chair shrinking away from the cruel fun poked towards the phantom. Even _Meg,_ her own daughter, was engaged in their happiness. Her oatmeal was no longer appealing and her stomach seemed to tie and retie in knots. Somewhere along the line, Meg noticed her mother's behavior and asked a completely innocent question.

"Mother, are you ill?" She asked observing Madam Giry's pale complection. Madam Giry was about to dismiss this accusation but then decided to take up the opportunity to leave the cruel room.

"Yes. I feel rather unwell. I'm going up to my room for a rest." With that, Madam Giry pushed the chair out from under the table and walked silently up the stairs.

The phantom sat behind a large statue staring out at the city below. The scenery had become one of his favorites when Christine left. He could see the people. He could sense them, hear them, and be remotely connected with them as they hurried on their way. One of the more interesting sights was when two lovers met in the park and nearly tore each other apart while kissing, hugging and the like. He smiled even as he thought. Didn't they have any thought that small children might be walking by? Or even just pedestrians!

Another phenomenon, like that of this morning, was when the sun cut through the fog of night and truly became a day. Colors that no artist could capture painted the sky and he couldn't help but marvel.

"That's something I will have to teach myself," he mused. "Drawing." The phantom didn't have time to dwell on this as the roof door swung open and he was forced to stay low.

In reality, Madam Giry didn't go to her room to rest like she said she would. She had run to the roof in hope that she could outrun the emotions that chased her. When she made it out of the labyrinth, and stopped for the first time moving to the roof, she felt the emotions catch up to her and strike her down. She got down on her knees, bowed her head in her cupped hands, and cried. Not a droning, annoying sound like that of Carlotta when she went into one of her many drama queen spells, but very petit little sobs with many tears clouding her eyes.

The phantom knew that Madam Giry was and always had been, from her first day there, a very strong spirit. She didn't cry unnecessarily, she didn't overreact on any occasion; something truly spirit breaking must have happened in order to get her to burst out like this.

"Oh God, why can I not forget it?" she sobbed out in small whispers to the Lord. "Everyone else has forgotten it. The phantom is gone, why can't I accept it?"

Whoa, hold on there. 'The Phantom'? She was crying over..._him_? He listened closer.

"I suspect that it's my bleeding heart that's kept me tender to this subject for so long. I cannot see why no one understands what he had to go through. Ever since I found him at the circus, being beaten, tortured, emotionally scarred–I felt a certain sting of pity that no other girl there did. They simply laughed on cue at the supposed entertainment. I never realized that the world could be so cruel, and I especially didn't realize that the world would take it all out on him."

The phantom slid quietly down the side of the statue until he came to rest on the ground. She was there? She had pity? Only one person in that crowd of scornful people had pity on him?

"With the exception of your Son, not one man has been able to take on all the cruelty of the world. But, my goodness, did that poor man come close. I'm surprised that he lived and thrived all this while. I know I would have ended it a long time ago. I do not see why You drove me to free him from that place when he had a painful life here as well. Why didn't you choose a more wealthy woman's heart to soften? One who could have adopted him into love? Maybe then he wouldn't have been so hurt."

The phantom tried to cover his ears leaving blood smeared across his cheek. This was too much information to learn at once. She kept on confessing. According to her, there was nobody there to judge her, so she continued to pour out the secrets of her heart - secrets that until now had been locked away. He pressed his ears harder to tune out her clear sobbing voice that was now talking to the heavens instead of her lap. The phantom couldn't take anymore of this. He stood up and went out the door - walking so quickly and quietly that she didn't sense anyone was there until the door closed.

Madam Giry wiped a tear and went over to see who was behind the door. She opened it and looked every which way - even above the doorframe. No one was in sight. She closed the door and noticed a splotch of red something on one of the walls nearly level with her head. It was vaguely a hand print and some rubbed off on her fingers as she felt the surface of the concrete. Madam Giry rubbed the contaminated fingers together a little while and then smelled it. Blood.

to be continued...

A/N: It's been easier to write this fic than some of the others for some reason. I wrote this one in roughly a day. Zum, I hope this stroke of good luck stays, I love it. No writer's block! woohoo! Next one should be up pretty soon, it's already half writen. I can't decide when I want to expose them to eachother fully yet. I don't want to rush it, you understand.


	3. The Eve of the Big Day

1**_Chapter three -Eve of the Big Day _**

Madam Giry traveled down the stairs and into her room where she had a cloth to wipe her soiled hand on. Her current dress was lined with silk and provided by Meg who had received it from a loyal fan one night. Meg insisted that Madam Giry have it since she had many nice dresses while her mother had but one or two. It was not something she wished to stain.

Madam Giry sat down at the small washing bin by her dresser and began lightly scrubbing her palm with a sponge. She couldn't help but wonder why that blood was on the wall and who was injured enough to produce it. If someone was seriously hurt in their midst, surely one of the others must know about it. With how thick the layer was on the wall - almost a complete hand, like a painting dunked in red - it could be dangerous if unkept.

After she finished washing, Madam Giry dried both hands on the small rag hanging to the left of the sink simply to make sure that both hands were completely clean. Touching a collection of blood on the wall - still warm and bright red with oxygen - wasn't the best feeling to behold.

Maybe one of the people down at breakfast would know something about it, then maybe she could forget about it and focus on the day.

OOOOO

The phantom stumbled down the stairway into his underground lair. Too much information to swallow at once. She had lived there the entire time? He didn't know? She knew his secret all along and never told? Questions began jerking him abruptly in different directions making his head spin. All this time, he had never known? How could that be? How could he haven't had recognized her?

_"Fool,"_ he thought to himself falling into his favorite chair and propping his head up with one hand rested lightly on the arm. All this time of living in the same building as her and never knowing any more about her. How pathetic was he? The phantom wasn't one to beat himself for mistakes but even now he felt the strong urge to strike himself across the face. He reached over for a candlestick, and picked it up. But after looking at it a while, he set it back in its place. He had no time for depression, there was going to be a visit soon he had overheard from Carlotta - though it wasn't hard to do since she had been screaming - and he had to get things prepared.

He stood up, walked over to his small writing table, and sat down on his stool. The phantom took up his pen and fixed his eyes on the page as it scratched quick letters into the paper. He'd teach those two to double-cross him...

OOOOO

"How will we explain this Andre?" Firmin asked waving a piece of paper in his partner's face as they walked. The last show they had put on wasn't exactly a five star opera. Carlotta was the lead as usual, even though she could not sing the part and everyone knew it. The critiques didn't take too kindly to that sorry excuse for an opera and they didn't cease to say what they thought of it in the reviews.

"I don't know," Andre said. "It's probably best if we don't mention this to Carlotta."

"But she's expecting to hear a review of the opera," Firmin argued stuffing the paper in his jacket pocket pulled tight 'round his middle.

"Then we'll say that one wasn't written," Andre offered.

"We can't say that there isn't one. There's always one."

Andre gave Firmin a look of annoyance. He always had to look at everything negatively. "Then we'll just write one. That'll hold 'til we get a good review on the opera, won't it?"

"Or we could tell her that it didn't come in yet and burn this old thing." Firmin said happily taking the yellow parchment out again.

"Burn what old thing?" Carlotta's voice rang through the lobby. All happiness and hope was flushed out of the two opera owners' systems. She trotted over to them - her full dress dragging on the ground in melodious grace only ruined by her quick and crude steps. They hadn't the time to hide it again for when Firmin had but half of the paper under his coat, Carlotta had already taken hold of it and yanked it away from him. She read it quickly - eyebrows knitted in concentration as she did. Finally she finished and her face turned beet red.

"And what is this?" She asked signaling an explosion coming.

Firmin and Andre both tried to start a safe sentence but Firmin got one out first. "It's the critique review for last week's opera." Andre slapped Firmin in the back of the head.

"The critique review? The_ critique_ review? You mean to tell me that this is what those puffed up, back-stabbing men who sit in the front seat have to say?" though both men thought it impossible, her face became even more red with fury.

"They are not always correct." Firmin said quickly to avert her anger.

"But they were this time, is that what you are saying?" Carlotta demanded. Neither could answer quickly enough. "That is it! I am not singing! Not now not _ever! _If that is what you think of my talent, I will not waste it on ungrateful people like you! End of story!" she began storming off towards the opera room.

"We can't afford to lose another singer," Andre whispered to Firmin. Firmin nodded and they both ran after her. "Carlotta please don't go!"

"I am going! Nothing you can say will stop me!" She insisted moving faster.

"Don't take what they say. The critiques do not know what they are saying! They're tone deaf and unappreciative of real talent." Firmin hurried in front of her and stopped her. "I say 'real talent' meaning you." he said calmly betraying his emotion.

Carlotta's scowl lightened the slightest bit. _"Better keep going."_ Firmin thought. "You are a goddess of music! No other on earth is even fit to wipe the dirt from your blessed shoes!"

Finally Carlotta smiled as if saying: 'That's what I wanted to hear.' "Alright. I will sing. But no more bad reviews. No matter how tone deaf the critiques are, got it?"

"Yes," they answered together with a bow.

"From now on, all reviews will be nothing but flattering to your flourishing talent," Firmin assured her. Carlotta walked on ahead relieved at their graveling. In her eyes, this was the best they had done in their whole history together. Firmin and Andre walked back together and Andre drew closer to Firmin.

"And how do you plan on keeping the reviews good?" he asked expectantly.

Firmin smiled wryly. "We do a series of operas on what intrigues the citizens of France. The legends and myths of the Phantom of the Opera." Andre smiled also at this genius piece of work.

"That would be splendid!" he exclaimed.

"Yes. And now, without the opera ghost to ruin the show, this opera house will be what it should be: _great!_"

to be continued...


	4. Down Once More

1A/N: Well, this is awkward. I've never aborted a story completely and then all of a sudden finish the chapter! If you have read my profile you'll have noticed that it says that this fic is being discontinued. Well, not any more. I was listening to the Phantom of the Opera Soundtrack just a while ago and remembered the reason I wanted to write this in the first place. Plus I found an ending scene I had written before starting this and I really want to put it to good use. This story has been moving very slowly and I'm working on speeding it up. Usually I have trouble spreading a story out but now it seems to be the other way around!

_**Chapter four - Down Once More**_

Christine and Raoul stood at the door of the opera house. Christine was larger around but not heavy, as she was waiting on a delivery. She was very excited as was Raoul as his arm hung over Christine's shoulders fingering her long, curly, brown hair that rested gracefully over her shoulders. Raoul reached out and took hold of the doorhandle then looked at his wife.

"Ready?" he asked before opening it.

Christine drew in a deep breath and let it out. "Ready," she replied with a smile. It had been over four months since she had set foot in the opera house and there was no telling what had changed. Hopefully they hadn't replaced her - though some part of her wished that they had so she could go home with Raoul and spend the rest of her days with him. But Raoul knew she wouldn't be able to stand being off of the stage for her entire life. Even during the time she was home with him, she was singing through the house. He knew it was best that she went back.

Raoul pulled the door open gently and allowed Christine to pass him as they walked in. He closed the door and they went towards the large room containing the actual theater where everyone was said to have been rehearsing. Nobody probably missed him since he wasn't there that often - also since the fact that most of the theater populaire were women - but he knew that they had all missed Christine and asked where she had gone to anyone and everyone who might know. He knew this would be a large reunion for all of them.

Raoul lead her through the double doors and silently up to the stage. Meg noticed at once and canceling out all other sounds, missed her cue when she ran off the stage and up to Christine. She hugged her tightly.

"I missed you so much! Where did you go? And--" She then pulled back, felt the round bulge in Christine's dress and smiled wryly. "–what happened?" Christine laughed and hugged Meg.

"You haven't changed. Just the way it should be." Christine said sincerely.

"Nor you," Meg replied - eyes drifting down to Christine's middle again with a smirk. "For the most part anyway."

* * *

The phantom lurked through the catwalks making ready to release the trap. He carried the sand bag to position as he listened to those ignorant people talk happily about nothing. He spotted Raoul standing to the side of her casually letting her speak. The phantom's rage was kindled. How dare he lay his hands on her! How–how dare she let him! It was disgusting to watch them - she actually was enjoying it. And then she put her arm around him. He was going to let the floor drop out beneath them and have them fall into the orchestra lobby, but dangling them from their arms in which they held each other sounded more satisfying at the moment.

"If I could have everybody's attention, I'd like to make an announcement," Christine started happily looking at Raoul.

_"Not today you aren't,"_ the phantom thought to himself finishing tying the sand bag and repositioning his new mask he had stolen from the prop room.It took only a little while to get positioned on the appropriate rope. He worked on aiming it perfectly. There couldn't be any mistakes.

"Raoul and I...we're going to have a baby," she said. 'Ooh's and 'awe's came from the crowd and exclaims of excitement. The phantom stopped - eyes wide and hurt, sandbag dangling from his frozen hand. She was with child? Despite his loath for both of them at that moment, he could never stoop so low as to risk killing a child. The phantom looked down at the sandbag in his hand and turned around to return back to whence he came when the sound of splintering roped captured all of his thoughts suddenly. He shot his eyes back up at the rope and saw that one of them was half frayed through - the one he was on. That day had been the one day he hadn't checked the ropes. Why hadn't it frayed when he had time to fix it? Before he could do anything about it, the rope snapped and sent him sprawling down towards Christine and Raoul.

_"NO!"_ he screamed in his head but remained as silent as possible on the outside. He groped for various ropes but none purchased in his grip. The phantom fell through some low-hanging ropes and one tangled round his ankle. Suddenly, just ten feet from the ground, the rope pulled tight and a sting went up through his leg as the sickening sound of breaking bone was heard. This time, he couldn't help the agonizing scream that burst from his throat.

The sandbag was yanked from his hand and flew upward causing him to fall to the ground right in the center of the triangle of the couple, Madam Giry, and the rest of the crowd. The air was knocked from him and he was left in wheezing coughs as they all stared down at him awestruck.

Some got out weapons, some hid behind each other, others still just continued staring. His mask was sent from his face across the floor and right up to Christine's feet. She bent down and picked it up - staring into it as memories came back. Raoul instinctively stood in front of Christine and carefully eyed the phantom as he struggled awkwardly to his feet.

"Give me the mask!" he said holding a hand over one side of his face and held out the other hand. "Give it to me!" He demanded shaking his outstretched hand.

Madam Giry noticed that the phantom's hand was wrapped in a cloth and there was a nasty blood stain down the center. It was dripping over already browned marks. He was the one stalking her? He had been at the rooftop just the other day? Could he possibly have been the face in the corner of her room those months ago also?

Christine carefully surrendered the mask and the phantom swiped it from her with his wounded hand. He then bowed his head and put it on - not that they hadn't already seen what he looked like without it. The phantom looked over at Madam Giry with something in his eyes - sadness, hate, anger, betrayal, maybe more - then turned to leave.

He drug his leg clumsily behind him - the limb being at an impossible angle. The people watched him limp off, no one being able to shoot him. He walked as fast as he could possibly go to get away from all the humiliation. The phantom lost his footing and fell flat on his face again. Snickers followed as well as comments and mocking smiles. He pulled himself up as quickly as he could and pushed himself onward, biting his lip, forcing himself not to relieve this pressure that had built up inside.

It was official. The opera populaire had lost all respect and thankfulness for him. They didn't appreciate him coming and fixing the props that had torn, tying and retying the ropes, and generally keeping this place afloat. They thought they didn't need him, they thought he was good for nothing. And he consented to the thought. _"I don't fit in. I don't have a place. No one wants me, no one ever wanted me. I don't know what I have been trying to prove, but now it's over. All that is good and worth living for has managed to overlook the devil's child completely." _

"Well, I see we'll have to go chase him out again," Firmin commented after a hearty laugh.

"Yes. When can you all attend?" Andre joked also. Laughs arose and the shock of the moment was gone just like that.

"I'm sorry; Christine, Raoul, I must go," Madam Giry said quickly walking off the stage and outside.

All instincts fought against it, all knowledge and sense told her 'no' but she still walked on. Going down the stone staircase below the opera house through the blackness, Madam Giry told herself it was a bad idea every step of the way. Even so, she continued on with no outward exclamation of fear. The sound of running water and the scent of musty stone surrounded her senses stronger. Since she couldn't use her eyes to gather information about her surroundings, her hearing, feeling, and sense of smell had become more in tune with her mind.

After walking further, she stopped and looked back up the stairs. _"I really should turn back,"_ she told herself. But she just couldn't. Curiosity held her too strongly. She could then see a faint light distorted by the mist that hung in the air. _"This is it." _Madam Giry swallowed to prepare to speak when needed and crept silently through the stone doorway.

The place was beautiful. She had never seen so many candles in one place! A golden hue surrounded her in the room and the heavenly scent of vanilla filled the air. The floor was nearly invisible beneath all the pages of music along with many instruments only as beautiful as the rest of the room. There appeared to be one large chair at the back, and a few others consisting of the one positioned at a writing desk, an organ, piano, and one at a small table.

Madam Giry walked gingerly between the candle stands careful not to ruin any of the precious things on the floor. She knelt down and picked up one of the many sheets of music. _"How he's advanced,"_ she thought to herself scanning the large parchment nearly black with notes. It puzzled her how he could tell what pages went to what songs. A rustle from the back caught her attention again and she lightly set the sheet on the nearby table amongst the piles of candles. She made her way through the alleys through the crowded room crouching ever so slightly as not to be seen by him.

Then she found him, his figure tall and muscular hidden beneath his cloak, hunched over something that looked very much like a coffin. He worked at it with strong hands confident of the tool he was using. He hadn't noticed her yet, and Madam Giry couldn't tell whether she was relieved or afraid. If she did not want to be seen, why did she come down there? Her eyes trailed down to his leg. It was bent at an impossible angle and looked more like a tail than a limb.

_Clank!_ Before she realized it, Madam Giry had knocked over a candle stick and it had fallen to the floor making a sound that no one could deny. And sure enough, the phantom turned his head and the face was now visible. His eyes were large, brown and shone from his face - even through the side with the mask.

"What are you doing here?" He yelled at her in outrage. He grabbed the side of a table to hoist himself up onto his feet and dropped the tool. She could now see his leg - the out-of-socket joint appearing as a sunken ring at the start of his hip - and felt a pang of pity for him.

"I came to see if you were all right" her voice quivered a little but she did her best to keep it steady. The Phantom groped around behind him on the floor for something yet kept his keen eyes sharply fixed on her. "That fall could have killed you." She moved towards him ever so slightly but he pushed himself backwards.

Finally he found what he was looking for. He grabbed it but when he tried to slip the lasso round Madam Giry's throat, his leg gave away and he was sent to the unforgiving ground. A cry of pain threatened behind his clenched teeth but he managed to keep it contained. Why couldn't he have sprained his leg? There was no way he was going to set this right before the torn muscle began repairing itself.

Madam Giry tried again. "You're hurt. Have you tried to look at the wound?"

"It's none of your business." he snapped trying to pull his leg into a less painful position.

_"Great, he's going to be difficult."_ She said to herself. "It needs to be checked."

"No it doesn't." he glared at her. "It is now time for you to go and let me be."

Madam Giry couldn't just leave the man to heal crippled as she knew he would. He'd find a way to fix it as best he could, but it was something that just couldn't be done by himself. There had to be a way to let her take a look at it.

"Leave me Madam," he commanded again. There was no room for argument.

Madam Giry turned to leave - disgusted with herself for giving up like that. But there was no way she would convince him to let her see his wound. She couldn't even get within five feet of him without him pulling out his lasso. She walked slowly regretting every minute of it. Her hand went to her stomach and she felt something tied under her cloak. Madam Giry pulled it out and read the label. Anaesthesia. She smiled to herself looking at the bottled liquid as she remembered forgetting to remove it after taking it to ease her sleepless week. Just what she needed. But how to get him to take it...

A pen sat on a nearby table. One of the new kinds that had ink built in as a cartridge. That would do. Secretly, Madam Giry swiped the pen off the table and held it to her chest. How would she get him to let her give him the sedative? She took out the ink cartridge and slipped it into a pocket. Then she carefully poured the clear liquid into the empty slot. It dripped out the tip a little and she held her hand under it. Now came the hard part.

Madam Giry walked silently back past the many candles to where she guessed she had come in. Actually, it was pretty confusing trying to get back there. Once she reached the long winding staircase, she glanced back again. The phantom appeared to have forgotten her and gone back to his work. Madam Giry turned a different way and began stepped over candles and pages of music spread across the floor.

The plan was simple. Get behind him and stick him with the pen. It wasn't the most logical plan or the most well-thought out in the book but it was the most efficient way she could think of. _"This would be so much easier to do if I weren't in a dress!"_ she thought wiping the sweat away from her brow collected by the heat of the candles around her. Being shorter than most of the candles, Madam Giry couldn't even tell if she was headed in the right direction.

What if she was just running in circles? She wouldn't know. The room all looked the same - big and glowing - and she was dwarfed in comparison. Finally she heard the sound of a wrench coming closer. Good. At least she knew she wasn't half way to China. Madam Giry was careful to make a wide turn behind where she imagined he would be. She fingered the pen again getting ready to jab as she turned the corner. She prepared mentally, and then rounded the corner.

The phantom's angry face met her and caused her to scream. "What are you doing still in my rhelm? I thought I told you to leave!" he yelled grabbing her arm and nearly crushing it in the process.

Reflex took over Madam Giry's body and she stabbed his forearm with the pen. The phantom gave a yell of pain and Madam Giry pulled free from his grasp and fell to the ground. The phantom was outraged and his eyes burned with anger.

"You're going to pay for this!" He yelled pulling the pen from his skin and throwing it at her. Madam Giry scurried up just as it hit the ground and began running through the narrow rows of candles.

"Get out! **_Get out!"_** he bellowed throwing the noose and other objects at her as he stumbled after.

Madam Giry ran as fast as her two legs could carry her. She knocked down many candles and tore many sheets of paper that she hadn't wanted to touch when she came. Why was she trying to save him again? He was horrible! A horrible monster that would surely kill her if it got the chance! And what exactly was she planning to do with his leg? She wasn't stupid enough to try going back there! Not now, not ever!

"Go! Just go!" The phantom continued yelling throwing one last candle in her direction. Anger kept him shaking and his face red. The strange thing though was that tears leaked their way from his eyes and a few trailed down his face. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground.

The phantom curled up slightly and his breath no longer shook with anger, but with fear, loneliness, and with hatred for himself. The child inside screamed and threw a fit - tears staining his cheeks even more so. _"I don't want to be alone anymore! I don't want to be alone anymore! I want to be loved! I want to be wanted!" _he screamed slamming his fists on the ground again and again. In most ways, the phantom wanted to do the same.

His eyelids grew heavy and it was soothing to let them fall into place and relinquish all the pain of the moment. Another single tear splashed to the ground and he was out.

* * *

Before long, Madam Giry stopped climbing the steps and looked back at the dimmed glow of the room at the base of the stairs. He had stopped yelling, it had all calmed down. Maybe she should go back...no, that would be unwise. _He tried to kill you, remember? _Her sense reminded her. Yet it wasn't sense that drew her to the bottom of the stairs and into the room again.

She walked the alleys more carefully and stopped every once in a while to listen for footsteps. She made it back to the clearing where his bed was. The phantom was in a ball on the floor - injured leg awkwardly out to the side - with his hands brought in close to his body. Madam Giry now saw why she wanted to help him again. He wasn't a monster, just a frightened child trying to defend himself from the cruel world. She knelt at his side and carefully unbuttoned his pants to take a look at the leg careful not to expose anything he wouldn't like her to see. Madam Giry looked at his expressionless face for a small while and noticed the streaks of tears down his cheeks and couldn't help but have a few run down hers.

She quickly wiped them away and began work on setting his leg.

to be continued...

A/N: Yes, it took an eternity to write/post up but the important thing is that it's up now, right?


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